


Tiny Paws, Snapping Jaws

by Anonymous



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Dogs, F/M, Fluff, Jokes, M/M, Minecraft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:21:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28404666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Long trips never lead to anything good.[ Rocco & Rat ]
Relationships: Rat | Darryl Noveschosch's Dog & Rocco | Zak Ahmed's Dog, Zak Ahmed & Darryl Noveschosch, Zak Ahmed/Darryl Noveschosch
Comments: 16
Kudos: 148
Collections: Anonymous





	Tiny Paws, Snapping Jaws

**Author's Note:**

> At some point, happytwt made a funny joke, and I got a dare. I thought to myself, whatever, you've needed inspiration, let's make a joke fic for them off it. It'll be quick and easy.
> 
> And somehow, I got this!! I don't know why it ended up being 5k!! I don't!! It's still just a meme fic!! Literally 0% of it is serious, all of it was in one go!! This is the only way I know how to write!!
> 
> AND I SEE YOU HAPPYTWT. I SEE YOU. I SAY THIS IS JUST A JOKE FIC FOR THE MEME OF IT ALL UP FRONT, STOP ROASTING ME FOR TIPSYPOSTING AT 4 AM. THIS WASN'T EVEN BETA IT DIES LIKE SKEPPY'S TWITCH CHANNEL.

Long trips never lead to anything good.

Most of the trips Rocco takes rarely do, to be fair. Sure, there’s the occasional car rides to the dog park or a hiking trail; those are fun, even if waiting for the burrs to be pulled from his fur are a test of patience. Sometimes it’s the groomer, or even worse, the vet. The former isn’t too terrible aside from the bath, and the latter… well. At least he gets a treat at the end.

Airplane rides, however, are _never_ good.

Rocco’s only been on two so far. The first had ended up with him at a new place, a new home and weeks of stress to adjust to _strange_ and _different_. Yes, the backyard had been bigger and yes, he’d enjoyed the change of the cramped L.A. streets to the spacious suburban lawns of their new neighborhood. But it had still been an _adjustment_ , and he hadn’t enjoyed that period one bit.

The second trip had been mere hours ago. With what felt like little preamble he’d been led into his crate, packed in the car and after several strokes to his head and soothing words that had fallen flat, had been carted away from his owner and stuffed into a freezing cargo hold. The sounds of deafening plane engines had filled his flattened ears and Rocco had been left to while away the hours through shivers and pleading cries that went unheard.

After a stressful sleep he doesn’t remember slipping into, he’d opened his eyes to inhale fresh air filled with apologetic sounds from his owner. He’d been let out on a leash, and while the grass had felt amazing beneath his paws, the sound of cars whizzing by the airport at top speeds had made for a nerve-wracking bathroom break. Even worse, he’d been re-crated immediately after and stuffed into the back of a taxi.

At least Skeppy had been with him this time, dipping his fingers through the bars and stroking the top of Rocco’s paw. It’s a small comfort, but a comfort nonetheless.

The car ride from the airport had been mercifully short at least, but it frustratingly does not end with Rocco being freed from his confines. Instead, Skeppy is currently unloading two suitcases from the trunk and setting them down on the small patch of grass beside Rocco’s crate. There’s a brief conversation and soon after, the sound of the car restarting and driving away.

Rocco and Skeppy are left alone, standing in what smells like a heavily wooded area – not that Rocco can see much from inside the crate anyway. There’s only piles dried leaves and a dirt path leading up to a white picket fence from what he can glimpse through the bars; but it’s fine. Surely Skeppy will pick up his things and let him out so they can keep moving.

Sure enough Skeppy bends to begin loading up the suitcases, stacking one on top of the other. He then turns and reaches for the latch on the crate, fingers closing around the lock. Rocco’s tail begins thumping happily as he hears the dial begin to turn –

And then Skeppy stops.

Rocco stares in bewilderment as Skeppy gives him a thoughtful look-over. The fingers are still as Rocco glances between the latch and his owner, tail beginning to slow as confusion settles in. Then, the worst words imaginable:

“Stay.”

It’s the last thing Rocco wants to hear after six hours in a box. Infuriatingly _stay_ also the only thing he can do, trapped in the crate and drooping his tail as Skeppy straightens up and begins to walk away down the dirt path. It doesn’t take long for his owner to slip out of Rocco’s limited sight range and that’s enough to start pulling pleading whines from his throat, even if he can still hear the sound of Skeppy’s sneakers crunching through the leaves.

They’re getting farther away, and each fading step leaves his limbs tensing further.

The sound of a doorbell chimes from a short distance away, interrupting Rocco’s mounting concern to be replaced with deeper unsettlement. Usually he is on the other side of the bell, racing to the door to identify would-be intruders as they announce their presence. Not sitting in his crate, shivering in a crisp autumn wind as the first vestiges of panic begin to creep into his limbs.

There’s a sound of a door opening, and two voices rise in a chorus of exclamation. Skeppy’s own is distinct but the other one is… oddly familiar. Not known, not certain, but still somehow familiar. Rocco’s ears prick up as he listens curiously, trying to pinpoint the origin. He can’t put a face to the voice no matter how hard he tries, but Skeppy’s own voice is clearly delighted – so that’s good. A good sign, a promise that they’re not in danger. The tension in Rocco’s shoulders slowly begins to wane and he offers a _wuff_ to the new voice in greeting.

A shrill, furious snarl meets him in reply.

All tension, all panic is back in an instant as Rocco leaps to his feet and the voices at the doorway swell in panic. Barking, angry furious barking is cutting through the once-calm and Skeppy’s own voice is pitching up in fear. Rocco butts against the bars of his cage, raising his own voice in challenge at the dog, definitely a dog, a dog near Skeppy that is angry and ready to fight and Rocco cannot reach him, Rocco is trapped but the moment he is free, the absolute _moment_ he is out he is going to fight, he is going to teach that dog a lesson, he is going to-

Be trapped in a laundry room.

It’s downright insulting. There’s no other word for it, and Rocco doesn’t think he’s had a fouler mood than this one. He hadn’t even gotten to see the other dog, being carted away in his crate as the other voice had taken the dog, the _enemy_ deeper into the house. The crate may have finally been opened, but Rocco is now stuck in here with the overwhelming scent of detergent and wool and repulsive _new_. The smells of the new human and even worse, the other dog cling to the clothes piled high in the baskets atop the washer. Rocco barely has enough space to properly pace inside the cramped room and every which way he turns, he’s assaulted by smells that are _not_ his.

Even the food bowl Skeppy had left for him goes largely untouched. He has no appetite, can barely bring himself to lap tiredly at the bowl of water provided. Every so often feet pass by the door and while Rocco can hear his owner murmur comfortingly each time, it brings little solace.

Rocco had known long trips never lead to anything good – but he really hadn’t expected anything quite _this_ bad.

He’s not sure where the other dog’s gone. There’s been no sign at the crack in the door, no snuffling or angry huff to alert Rocco to the fact he was being _inspected_. Perhaps they’d been locked away as Rocco had, stuck in some tiny room without enough space to really stretch their legs. Maybe Skeppy had simply driven them off, and he was just making sure they were really gone until he let Rocco out.

A ridiculous sentiment, but Rocco knows how Skeppy gets. The human never seems to realize just how often he needs Rocco around to protect him. Most frustratingly, he doesn’t seem to have an inkling how much watch needs to be kept when it comes to guarding their home.

The mailman has never broken into their home on Rocco’s watch, but does Rocco get a thank you? Not once. Rocco might be lenient enough to forgive his human for the ingratitude, but the lack of appreciation still stings a little from time to time.

Really, not even one treat for driving him off. Not ever.

Rocco’s so deep in his own thoughts and hurt that he doesn’t notice the door handle jiggling at first. When there’s a creak of movement his ears perk up and forward a second before his mind catches up; he’s instantly on his feet, tail alert as the door cracks open and a face fills the lower part of the doorframe.

“Hey, buddy,” Skeppy says gently.

He should pout. Rocco should whine and turn away and let Skeppy know just much unfair this entire situation is because it _is_ , it’s unfair and unfun and Rocco has hated every second of this since they left. Skeppy deserves to be scolded and ignored for what he’s done.

Instead, Rocco bounces up on his hind legs and licks the man’s nose.

It’s hard to stay mad at that face.

“Aw,” Skeppy coos, rubbing his fingers over Rocco’s scalp and scratching him in just the right spot. “I know, I know. You want to come out? I need you to be good. Can you be a good boy?”

Rocco is _always_ a good boy. He’s about to give an affirmative _wuff_ , until the thought of the other dog overhearing crosses his mind. Instead, Rocco just wags his tail and gives Skeppy an affectionate headbutt before attempting to nose the door further open.

“Okay, okay! Slow down.” Skeppy’s tone is affectionate as he kneels, fingers sliding from Rocco’s scalp to hook on the leather collar. There’s a familiar _click_ of the leash snapping into place as Skeppy straightens up and strokes the top of Rocco’s forehead again. “You gotta be good, okay? I’m gonna let you meet someone. You’re gonna like them, I promise.”

If it’s the dog, Rocco very much has his doubts about that. Still, he can be good. He can behave.

Probably.

Thankfully, it’s not the dog. It’s a human, the human from the laundry room going by the smell. A human with choppy brown hair and box-shaped glasses that immediately kneels down and welcomes Rocco over with a high-pitched, sugary-sweet voice and a great big smile. He coos and squeaks and rubs Rocco behind the ears with nothing sort of complete adoration shining from his eyes.

Skeppy’s right. Rocco likes him.

The human does still smell like the _other_ dog, though. It’s not ideal, and Rocco does try to rub his head up against the man to try and cover it up – but it’s not enough. No matter how many snuffling passes Rocco gives the man as he circles around and around, the scent of the _other_ , the **_enemy_ **persists.

It’s a bit perplexing. This seems like a nice human. Rocco likes his giggles, his nimble fingers that scratch the best spots as if already practiced and the way he knows that yes, Rocco _would_ like a treat, thank you very much. This good human has no business smelling like a dog that yaps and snarls at Skeppy, who is an even better human.

Oh well. With enough headbutts, surely the scent will be covered up eventually.

“Do you think we should bring Rat out?”

Rocco’s ears prick up curiously. He understands the word _rat_ , but it’s never said so casually. Usually it’s an exclamation, a shout that is all but a command for Rocco to chase the offending creature back into the city’s sewers and away from his owner’s scrambling feet and high-pitched screams.

The nice human shakes his head, planting a palm on the floor as he pushes himself to his feet. “No, not yet. She can stay in the room for now. I think it’s better for Rocco to feel comfortable for a while before we bring her out.”

A confusing string of words. Rocco’s trying to puzzle out some of the meaning, before Skeppy replies: “Want to take him for a walk, then?”

Now _that_ Rocco understands.

\---

It’s a pretty nice neighborhood.

Not as nice as Rocco’s own, in his opinion, but it’s new in a good sort of way. There’s a lot to smell, leaves to snuffle through and poles to mark with his scent. There is, disgustingly, the smell of the other dog lingering in certain areas; Rocco had never felt quite so satisfied lifting his leg on something as he did on those spots.

The nice human had come along, wrapped in coats and scarves and calling happily to Rocco every so often. Most of the human’s attention was wrapped up in Rocco’s owner as they’d chatted away too quickly for Rocco to bother paying attention to. He’d been too invested in sniffing, exploring and mentally taking note of every little new thing they’d encountered along the way.

By the time they’d got back it had already fallen dark. The strain of Rocco’s harrowing journey had quickly caught up to him and at the click of his leash coming undone, he’d simply trotted back over to the living room and sprawled out on the floor. His heavy sigh was met with giggles from both humans; he did his best to ignore them. They’d murmured something among each other, and what had sounded like a question had been met with a shake of Skeppy’s head.

Then there’d been a gentle brush of fingers over Rocco’s fur before a gentle: “I’ll leave the door open, alright? You can come sleep with me if you get lonely.”

“I’ll keep mine shut,” the nice human says. “The locks are kind of bad, but I’ll put a box in front of it so she can’t wiggle out.”

Rocco’s not quite sure what that means, but he can’t bring himself to care. The living room rug is plush against his fur and fatigue is quickly winning out over the need for consciousness. There’s a soft: “Night, buddy,” as the sound of a pair of footsteps retreats down the hall and Rocco feels his eyes begin to slip shut. There’s a few drifting thoughts here and there that flit through his mind as sleep comes to claim him, but none seem all that important.

The only thing of note is the small wonder if perhaps the other dog is gone. He hasn’t seen hide nor hair of it; really, the only evidence that it existed at all is the permeating smell throughout the home. With enough time, Rocco will happily be rid of that anyway. There’s been no sign of the other dog otherwise; he’s yet to run into a food bowl or toys that would betray its presence. Beyond hearing it bark its challenge to Skeppy and the low, threatening growls currently vibrating against his ear, Rocco can’t be sure it-

Wait.

When Rocco’s eyes snap open, it’s to total darkness. Night has fallen around him; the house is filled with an almost unrelenting darkness. Only a small nightlight in the hallway allows Rocco to refocus his vision as the situation begins sharpening in his mind.

Notably, the growling.

When Rocco scrambles to his feet it’s with a flurry of limbs and a disoriented squeak; undignified at best, and never how he wants to be caught by an enemy. The movement earns him a snarl that is immediately met with Rocco’s lips pulling back, baring his teeth as his eyes dart around the room, scanning for where the other dog has gone. He whips his head back and forth, searching out the source of the noise and bracing to be barreled down by a dog potentially twice his size – when another low, furious growl issues at his feet.

When Rocco lowers his gaze down, towards the other dog, towards the _enemy_ , one thought rings out clearer than a bell in his mind.

_Tiny._

The source of the seething ball of unrelenting, crystal-clear hatred at Rocco’s feet is just – tiny. Its got white fur just like him, but it lacks the refined curls and instead has strands sticking out every which way. Its eyes, already half-bugged out of its head by size alone, are narrowed as it bares its teeth and snaps warningly at the air just in front of Rocco’s nose.

Rocco vaguely marvels at the fact he could probably crush the other dog just by laying atop it.

Another snap, right at Rocco’s feet and he finds himself backpedaling, being herded in the direction of the sliding glass door. The smaller dog is crowding him back until he’s at the edge of the living room and rather than be angry about it, Rocco finds himself just – perplexed. This miniscule creature poses no threat; not to Rocco, and only maybe to Skeppy, yet it’s acting as if it’s the boss here.

_You gotta be good, okay?_

Rocco can be good. He’s not sure why he has to, why he’s in this situation to begin with – but he can be good.

When he can back up no further, he simply sits and stares at the angry, _tiny_ dog vibrating with fury across from him. His half-vacant stare is met with a glare for several long moments as the other dog sizes him up – literally – and snorts angrily thrice in a row.

And just like that, it gives him one last look-over and turns away to trot back down the hall. The only parting remark is an irritable huff before the dog slips out of sight and Rocco is once again left alone with the darkness of the night and his complete and utter bewilderment.

\---

Her name is Rat.

Rocco is informed of this after a long, semi-sleepless night of laying against the sliding door and just marveling at the absurdity of his situation. Every ounce of him that had good sense had prevented him from following after her, even if he’d wondered on the _who, why_ , and _how_ for far too long until sleep had finally pulled him under once more.

He’d woken to exclamations from the humans and the sight of the dog – Rat, as they’d called her over and over – sitting at the edge of the living room and glaring at him from afar. The nice human had quickly scooped her up out of reach, but Rocco had made no move to approach. Even when Skeppy bends down to pet and murmur soothing words to him, it only earns the human the tiniest wag of Rocco’s tail as he keeps a watchful gaze on the other dog sending daggers his way.

She has to stretch to glare at him over the top of the nice human’s folded arm.

She really is tiny.

At some point the humans seem to realize Rocco has no plans to maul the other dog - because he could, he’s large and strong and she is small, she’s so, so small – and they begin to relax. The nice human keeps his grip on Rat but their tones grow softer, more curious as Rocco gently thumps his tail at their attention being directed back his way.

Rocco can be good. Rocco can behave, because he is not in danger from this. Skeppy is not in danger from this. Rat is no threat, even if she thinks otherwise.

And she really, really seems to think otherwise.

In the span of two days, a mutual hierarchy is established – and Rat is at the head. When they go on walks, Rat always stays ahead of Rocco. When the humans place their food bowls down, Rat eats first and if she decides she wants more, she eats from Rocco’s until one of the humans notices and pulls her away. When the humans settle down on the couch to stare at their screens, Rat sits on their lap and Rocco sits at their feet.

With any larger dog, it would bother him. But Rat is so small, so _tiny_ and proud and fierce that Rocco finds himself just… letting her. The only moments of tension from the suspicious glares and warning grumbles when Skeppy gets just a little too close to the nice human when she’s carried in his arms; even then, she doesn’t bite, doesn’t outright growl. When the humans lean against each other, she offers no protest – even when Skeppy takes hers pot in the nice human’s lap with his feet, she doesn’t retaliate with anything but a huff.

She behaves, so Rocco can too.

Rat won’t soften to him; Rocco’s pretty sure of that. She outlines her territory through warning posture whenever Rocco strays too close to her self-determined boundaries. She guards her human jealously, never straying too far; Rocco’s only pats from the nice human come from the nights where she’s fast asleep in the bedroom and the man’s slipped out to see him. Even in the morning hours when she’s still half-asleep and blurry-eyed, Rat patrols the house until she finds wherever Rocco’s snuggled himself away. If it’s out of bounds, he’s quickly corrected and herded back to safer grounds.

Yet as the days pass, bit by bit there are – changes.

The first takes him a while to notice; Rat stops eating from his bowl. On the first occasion, he assumes she’s simply eaten her fill that night. But then breakfast and dinner pass the same way with Rat finishing off her bowl, licking it clean, and then simply trotting off without a second glance. Rocco is left in peace to eat his meal while Rat wanders to sit at her human’s feet to just observe until Rocco is done.

On their walks, Rat still leads the way by a large margin – but she no longer nips at the air when Rocco strays too close. He corrects himself when he catches her wary glance, but the aggression in her stare wanes each time. He doesn’t chalk up the change until another large dog crosses their path and he once again sees the full fury and force contained in Rat’s tiny body as she lunges against her leash.

Her bravado is impressive. Rocco’s never seen a dog twice his size tuck tail before.

The nights are the same, save for one. Rocco isn’t sure if the weather had been particularly cold outside or if the humans had forgotten to warm the rooms, but the result is the same. The living room is freezing and even with his plush coat, Rocco finds himself curled up in the tightest ball he can manage. He tucks his nose beneath his leg, trying his best to stay as warm as possible even if he feels like he’s failing miserably.

At some point he’d drifted off; he knows this for sure, because when a particularly vivid dream leaves his eyes blinking open and refocusing in the darkness, something shifts against him.

When Rocco cranes his neck to look, he finds a warm, white, _tiny_ body curled up between his legs.

He doesn’t know if she’s asleep. Doesn’t dare to move enough to check. Slowly, Rocco lowers his neck back down to the floor and exhales a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.

He’s not cold anymore.

\---

“Did you have fun?”

The question is startling; Rocco had been lounging in the yard, watching Rat chase a squirrel scurrying across a telephone poll. He hadn’t been anything but relaxed, enjoying Skeppy’s fingers carding through his fur when the man had voiced the question seemingly unprompted.

Rocco knows that question. It’s what Skeppy asks when the dog park’s winding down, when their walk is coming to an end, when the groomers have finished spritzing perfume into Rocco’s scalp. Skeppy asks that question when it’s time to _leave_ – but why would they go anywhere? This is where Rat lives, and Rocco is perfectly happy right where he is. Based on the way their humans laugh and have started sitting pressed against each other, hand in hand, they are too.

There’s no reason to leave. They travelled, they’re here. This is where they live now. They can’t be leaving.

They’re definitely leaving.

The realization comes that night as Rocco ducks his head into Skeppy’s room and sees the man packing the suitcases. He’s folding his clothes and piling what he’d brought in the same haphazard, familiar mess he does whenever he travels. Skeppy’s already unfolded the crate, the silhouette so ominous at the foot of the bed that Rocco has to step back and look away.

They’re leaving. Why? Was Rocco not good? Did he not behave? What went wrong?

The confusion leaves him aimlessly wandering around the living room, walking in circles over and over even as the lights in the house begin to click off and Skeppy and the nice human call out their _good night_ s. Darkness brings him no answers; the pacing, no relief. There’s no reason for them to leave, no matter how many times Rocco turns it over in his head. The suitcases shouldn’t be packed, the crate shouldn’t be there. This is where they live. This is where they’re happy. They shouldn’t be leaving.

It doesn’t make sense.

As his soles begin to ache in tandem with his chest, Rocco simply slumps over on the carpet and lets out a high, pitiful whine. When he closes his eyes to huff another, the sound of paws padding closer has him cracking open an eye to cast a miserable gaze.

Rat is looking at him. There’s no trace of aggression for once, just mild curiosity as she stares him down and cocks her head ever so slightly in interest.

Rocco averts his gaze, whining again. He doesn’t understand and knows she doesn’t either. He’d been _good_. He’d done what she’d asked, what the humans asked. He doesn’t want to go back in the crate. He doesn’t want to leave.

Rat steps closer. Rocco can feel her breath atop his muzzle as she leans in, sniffing him as if examining for a physical injury. She leans in, nudging at the side of his nose and –

Ah.

It’d been quick, so fleeting that for a moment Rocco hadn’t been sure what had happened. But it’s then there’s another, a quick stripe against his lip, and he knows.

Rat had licked him.

The show of affection is brief; within the blink of an eye, Rat is pulling away and huffing to herself as if nothing had happened at all. Rocco expects her to leave, to traipse back to her human’s room and claim half his bed as she usually did – but she doesn’t. Instead, Rat tucks her legs and settles down beside him.

He looks at her, really looks at her; she in turn gives him a glance that turns warning the longer his gaze lingers. After a moment, he turns his head away and she sighs in a tone that he can’t place.

Rocco isn’t sure what time she falls asleep, if she does. His own rest eludes him for the rest of the night.

\---

If Skeppy is surprised by the way Rocco voluntarily walks into the crate, he doesn’t voice it.

The suitcases are already packed and waiting on the lawn; Rocco can’t see much from behind the bars, but the choked farewells of their owners fit the length of just how long their humans stand in embrace on the doorstep.

Rat’s inside. Rocco isn’t sure which door she’d been closed behind, but he knows she can’t come out to see him, even for one last time.

She would, if she could. He likes to think so, anyway.

“Come back soon,” sniffles the nice human.

“Of course.” Rocco can’t see from here, but he knows his human is crying. He’s struck by the urge to lick away the man’s tears as he always does, but the unrelenting bars holds him firmly in place.

More soft words are exchanged until the humans wrap each other in one last hug and finally, cruelly – Skeppy steps away. The bags are loaded into the car by a man Rocco doesn’t know, but Skeppy himself bends to lift Rocco’s crate into the backseat.

As Rocco is lifted, he catches a glimpse of the windows. It’s fleeting, barely more than the time it takes for his owner to grunt in exertion – but Rocco sees.

Rat is there. Her delicate, tiny paws are pressed up against a window and nose flat and smushed on the glass. She’s watching, watching as Rocco is loaded into the seat – but for just a moment, he can feel their eyes lock.

Behind her staring, impossibly large eyes, Rocco can see that she’s wagging.

And then she’s gone. Rocco’s line of sight breaks and he’s being lowered, crowded into the backseat as the smell of old leather fills his nostrils. Skeppy is sliding into the seat beside him, heaving a sigh and informing Rocco in so many words that he needs to start working out again.

The car starts, purring to life with a vibration that rattles Rocco’s crate. For a second, Rocco is struck with the impossible thought of adding to it, of throwing himself against the bars until they give, of dashing out of the car and into the street, up the dirt path and through the door. Back to Rat until at least, _at least_ they could give each other a proper goodbye. The urge to run, to _go back_ is so violent that for a second, Rocco can feel nothing but the phantom sensation of a tiny muzzle nuzzling against his own.

Skeppy’s hand touches Rocco’s paw in a comforting squeeze.

The spell is broken. As Rocco blinks the fantasy away, the next thing he sees is his owner’s face smiling back at him.

“Did you have fun, buddy?”

Rocco lowers his gaze down to the hand touching his paw, to the thumb smoothing over his fur in a soothing motion. Skeppy’s still smiling at him, still searching out – something. Happiness? Comfort? Forgiveness?

After a long pause, Rocco looks back up at him and offers his owner a brief wag of his tail. Skeppy beams back at him and gives his paw a final squeeze before leaning back in his seat. A long sigh follows as Skeppy reaches up, wiping at his cheeks and running his hands through his hair.

“Yeah. I had fun too. We’ll come back soon, I promise.”

Rocco gives him one final wag before lowering his head, tucking his legs beneath him as he closes his eyes and lets out a sigh of his own.

Long trips never lead to anything good. They’re cold, miserable, stressful. Nothing about the journey is fun, and the leaving, even worse. But, to come back here – to them, to her -

Rocco thinks he’ll manage.


End file.
